


The Man Who Has Everything

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hot Weather, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader-Insert, Sex, Sexual Content, Spngenrebingo, Summer Nights, Sweaty Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 23:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18417740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: Reader is habitually quiet during sex and Sam leads her to be more vocal, even at the risk of annoying Dean.





	The Man Who Has Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laqueus-ludovicus](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=laqueus-ludovicus).



“You are just the sweetest.”

“Am I?” You don’t sound convinced.

“Yes.”

You close your eyes again and let Sam look at you, let your lungs be in charge of your body for a few moments while the sugary thrill of the orgasm ebbs along your nerves.

He’s on his elbows with his thumb stroking your temple, softly smirking at your radiant cheeks and sighing self, savouring how snug he feels inside you while his ass still nudges up toward the bliss a few times.  “You’re so… demure,” he says, as if to try out the word.

“…You mean, like a lady.”

“Yeah.  Considering how noisy you are during hunts, I’m always surprised how quiet you are with me.”

“Well, it’s not for lack of inspiration.”  You look at him and watch your hand slide down his jaw, thumbing across a dimple.  “I think… with my first boyfriend, a housemate took a dig at the noise and… I just learned to tone it down.”

Sam frowns a bit, at the pity of it.  

“Am I really that noisy hunting?”

“Tennis commentators would comment on it.”

“Huh.  Kinda their job, though.”

“Point,” he admits.  “Fifteen-love.”

* * *

Tonight is hot.  Tropic of Cancer hot, all the way down in the Everglades.  Neither of you feel like touching the other just now so you rest there together, listening to the racket in the forest outside.  It’s as though only silly humans schedule sleeping for the nighttime.

You lay beside Sam, star shaped on the futon, staring at the wooden cabin’s ceiling.  These huts are quite tropical in style: all the windows have fly screens as well as wooden shutters, and everything hinges out from the top. You could look right through the building, if you were tall enough.

The air shifts occasionally; a shallow breath from the trees gets over the pillows every now and then, but it’s otherwise a very still and humid night.

“You think Dean’s out already?”

“I hope so.”  Sam slings his arm over his head.  The both of you are in only briefs.  “It takes him a few days to acclimatise to this sort of weather, as it is.  I can’t deal with him getting more tired on top of uncomfortable.”

“He’ll figure it out.  Maybe let him sleep in.”  You slide your hand across the sheet to find his, hooking a finger.  “I love it when we finish a hunt before dinner.  So nice to get a full night and start fresh in the morning.” You’re choosing between sleep and other things, but your breath is on its way to rest, the work of the week dragging you down.  “So crappy when we’re done, like…  before dawn.”

“Yeah.”  Just the clarity of Sam’s word shows he’s not sleepy.  His thumb drags back and forth on your hand.  “Can you hear Dean snoring?”

“No.”

You close your eyes and listen to the persistent broken-bell ringing of the entire insect kingdom.  It could drown out whatever you might do, but Dean being in the cabin next door is surely enough to put romance on the back burner tonight, let alone the heat.

Yet Sam’s thumb still rubs…   And then he’s threaded his fingers through yours.

“Sam.”

“Oh, come on,” he groans, as though you’re being reluctant.  “We’re out here like a regular couple on holiday.  We’re not gonna take advantage’?”

A few seconds pass before you crack and sigh and purposefully do not open your eyes because you’re sure you’re going to see Sam’s chest, all that lean brawn and chocolatey hair, rising and falling in the spill of moonlight, and just…  his  _all_  is so tempting, in such a raw way, and you know you could be convinced….

“I just love being your boyfriend, babe.”  He lets go of your hand and runs a knuckle up the curve of your breast, and the tacky skin makes the friction jumpy.  The next brush is surer, longer, and he slides his hand back down into yours, squeezing his hold emphatically.  “Don’t wanna miss out on that.”

And then you hear Dean start up a solid snore, like an ally, 30 whole feet away.

Sam takes your fingers, raising your arm up and over your head to lay it on the pillow, and gets his lips on your breast, nuzzling and tasting, licking off the sweat. His tongue is rough in the under-soft, and he blows over what’s wet to help cool.

You peek to watch him enjoy the shapes of you in the night shadows finally persuaded by the reaching line of his jaw and all your luck…. “It’s going to get so slippery.”

“I  _know_.” He grins, and slides himself right over you, nudging your knees apart with his hips.  You lay there and pretend you’re still deciding, let him go on convincing you with his lips, and let your hands rest on his shoulders.  “Put ‘em back up there,” he says.  “Stay cool.”

“There is no ‘staying cool’.” Still, you do as he asks, and shift yourself a little, easing the discomfort of sweat-slicked tendrils and damp fabric against your clammy neck.

Sam is boiling, almost uncomfortably hot over you.  A naturally warm man, this heat has him constantly damp, if not wet.  Yet, as he gets his briefs off, it seems more like it’s clothes that are the problem, not his thermostat, or the weather.  Sam in the tropical buff seems to be so… alive.

“Mmmm salty,” he murmurs, sampling every thing, licking your collarbone. “I need a tequila to go with you.”  His tongue is making you feel like you’ve already had a shot or two.

You smile and enjoy his kisses, shifting your legs around his hips and wiggling into the adorable, familiar discomfort of his rigid erection between you.  “Your cock…,” you groan.

“What?” he laughs.

And you laugh, too, saying, “It’s like it’s purposefully awkward everywhere but in me.”

Sam doesn’t giggle so much as bounce in his chest, leaning off you to say,  “There’s a reason for that.”

“Uuuuuh, okay then. Put the poor little feller out of his misery.” You do a blink that would be a nod, if you had more energy.

“ _Thank_  you.” Sam kisses you once, full stop, and reaches over to the bedside table to dig a condom out of the toiletry bag.  “You think all this sweat will double as lube?”

“I think lube would melt off your finger.”

Sam sits back on his heels to roll on the protection and you rub the sole of your foot on his hip, languid and slippery from the sweat that’s built up from your thighs.  He crawls back over you, sweet and loving, dragging fingertips down your waist before leaning his hips towards yours.

You give him the room to get in there, watch him lead himself into you, and close your eyes to feel him push, push your flesh apart and take up space inside.  On his elbows he pulls and pushes a few times, evening out the feeling, and you sigh into it, stretching a little.

He’s so hot, he heats you from within; only the deepest part of you is unable to detect the difference.  Maybe it’s the scalding contrast of his inner hips against your thighs but you imagine, for a moment, coming out of cool water to this….

Sam’s smiling at you all happy and smiling at him.  “There we go,” he says, leaning his wet curly hair against yours, stroking your brow affectionately. “Home again.”

You grin and grind yourself down to agree, like your pussy can hug his cock. “Much less awkward.”

“Do you understand, now?  That’s where it’s supposed to be.” He nods down at his crotch and your hips.  

“You poor boy.”

“I know-”

“You have to go the whole day-”

“Exactly.  Entire days.”

“-with that massive erection-”

“Massive erection.”

“-and it’s only happy for a  _fraction_  of the day!”

“ _Massive_  erection.”

You giggle and Sam lets his grin break through.  Every time that happens, every time he lets the joy shine and those creases stretch right down to his chin, you feel like you’ve won a ribbon.

“You want anything?” Sam drags the back of his fingers up the side of your neck, up to your temple, slowly tucking his hips in a nice suggestive way.

“Hmmm, I don’t need much.  Tired.  Just something nice, not too energetic.”

“Okay, then.” He kisses you, mumbling, “we’ll keep it simple.”

Sam thrusts then, earnest and full, and you breathe in for it.  He takes up a familiar pace, and you match your breath, humming when it sparks a little more.  “Mm!  S’nice.”

“Yeah.”  He keeps going and you let your body be rocked into the mattress by his scorching length and slippery torso.

You wonder if Sam knows what happens when he does this: he gets an angle and a steady pace and just drags back and forth along the walls of your core and it’s honestly like friction for a fire.  Every stroke gets you closer, every surge wringing you higher, until you’re almost frustrated with pleasure.

Usually, your hums turn to whimpers, maybe the odd quiet keening sound, and Sam will watch your brow crease and your lips blow measured air.  Soon, usually, you’ll ask to turn over so you can muffle your noises in the pillow, or you’ll just bite down on silence and scratch at him till he gallops to the finish line.

But this time, Sam pushes on.  The evening cacophony still trills in the space around you, but Sam’s starting to grunt at you clamping your thighs and bucking your hips.  He shifts an elbow so he can reach your hands up there, hooking over both your middle fingers, and drops his hips to roll into you a new way.

“OH- _hhhh!”_   You cry out and gasp, biting down on your lip at how good it feels.  Then you feel Sam’s palm on your jaw, his forearm across your arm.

His rhythm falters a moment while he strokes his thumb across your lip and you look at him, glistening with sweat, hair unevenly hanging and clinging, but his colour is gorgeous, his dark gaze drinking you in.

He eases your lip from your teeth, then pulls it down, gets his thumb between them.  You kiss the pad, but he pushes it to your teeth.  “Open up for me.” His voice bounces on his breath.

So, you drop your jaw enough to taste the rough, salty whorl of his thumb, and drag your tongue over the skin.  Sam wedges his thumb deeper, getting the knuckle past your teeth, and you turn your head to accommodate.

“Wanna hear you.” He whispers the words at your ear, and thumps his cock into you in hope.

Your “Ah!” comes out around the knuckle, and he puts his forehead to your temple, pleading, “Oh, please.  Please, you sound so gorgeous.”

The fingers hooked around his wrap tight, and he presses them down to answer, neither of you fighting the other.  He eases his knuckle back to the teeth and, for the first few fucks you still try to be quiet.  It’s so hard to let go of the instinct to withhold.  After years of habit, it’s almost embarrassing to hear yourself - but he whispers harshly  _Yes, that, just like that, let me hear you Beautiful_ , all the way through your “Ah! Ah! AH!” Even when you arch up into the relentless pleasure, the trembling trepidation of what will happen if he makes you take it, crying softly, “ _AH! Sam?! Please?!_ AAh-Ha!”

Sam lets your lips go, smacking his hand on your hip before sliding it underneath and tilting you, fucking you so sharp and hard there’s no way you can keep the feeling to yourself.  You gasp high and hard and quake, cursing, “Oh, God!” at the way your body wracks itself through this orgasm.

Sam groans in surprise, then finds your lips, like he always does, whenever he can, so that he’s kissing you when he comes and shudders against you, into you, grabbing and holding and curling into your body so hard it aches.

You’ve never felt like this.  You’ve come before, but this… this doesn’t feel finished.  It still thrums, your thighs nearly chewing on Sam’s hips for more.  You feel Sam’s lips smile against you, a happy little  _Huh_  before he kisses you some more.  “Are you not done?” he asks.  It’s certainly rare that this doesn’t sate you, and you’re a little hesitant to admit he might be right, until he adds, “You want me to keep going? Use my mouth on you?”  He sounds absolutely lascivious over the idea, ready for raunch.

“Uh, yeah, maybe.” You blink at him a bit, shy at how unable you are to keep still.

Sam grins, holds your ribs with boths hands to kiss you and pulls out, sorting out the condom quicker than you can remember and coming right back to where he was, dragging tight hands down your sides and holding your hips like a bowl of juice.

“Don’t go gettin’ quiet again.”  There’s a slurping sound as he drags his tongue up your heat. “I’m all the way down here, Baby, tell me what’s good.”  Then he latches onto your clit and everything around it, sliding two keen fingers right into you, curling already, pushing the swollen flesh.

You curl backwards and suck air through your teeth, so ready to be fucked again, like this.  And though you do drop your jaw so that sound can come out if it wants, your sigh is meek, kept.  

“Don’t make me get mean, darlin’.” Sam gets his thumb into the top of the crease, pulling enough that your clit is tilted high and full, and he flicks his tongue over it in time with his fingers inside.  

“Ah!  Shit!  Sam!” The noise of the night has nearly concussed your ears, and now the rest of you is ready to give into vibrations, too.

“‘S’at good?”

“Yes!  S’good!” You hope saying what he wants to hear will make him ease up, but it doesn’t; he just wants to hear more.  So, he gets his tongue back on you, licks you every which way, quick and random, until you’re crying out, “Oh God! Please!  Ah!   _Please!”_   That’s when he gives you a rhythm, rubs inside along with pushing his knuckles, broad and demanding, up against your flesh, and watches you cry out, “Aaah!  _Aa-haa!_  Ah-God!” at the way your body floods the ecstasy, washes you with it, as though he’s breathed bliss straight into you.

When you open your eyes again Sam is laying beside you, dishevelled, delighted, adoring.  You think you might go to sleep before the next blink.

“You’re still quiet,” he smirks.

It takes a lot of work to harness your next exhale into words.  “No!  I let you make me make noise!”

He chuckles, finds some water nearby, offering you some before having his own and putting it back.  He finds the sheet to pull across you both, protection from the chill of sweaty skin.  “You did.  I made you make noise,” he says, relaxing into the last of the day and his beautiful view.  “But you still sounded like a pastor’s wife.”

You smile and turn your head his way, so that your foreheads touch.  “Well, girlfriend of a saint ain’t far off.”

* * *

Dean lay there, on his side, cursing the discomfort.  It was as though his skin was too tight, everything too rough, and he had half a mind to kick off the boxers, too, for all anyone cared.  The insects though, Good  _God_ , the persistent drill of bells- sometimes he couldn’t even tell how loud it was.

That was until he heard you and Sam start up chatting next door.  It had that casual, incidental feel about it, end of the day thoughts, and it was strangely nice to hear such soft tones above that jungle racket.

He listened to the low murmurs, and then he noticed Sam’s tone change into a whine, something coaxing, and he momentarily hoped you’d hold out about getting down and dirty while Dean’s  _right here_.  

Sam must’ve turned his head just the right way, because Dean clearly caught, “-you hear Dean snoring?” and you pointedly saying, “No.”

_Of course not,_ he thought _, every insect in a mile radius is kicking the chair in my head_.  Yet Sam’s indistinct coaxing seeped through the din again, and something about it makes Dean sympathetic.

Like instinct, he gives it up.  He backs up his little brother, for  _this_ , of all things, and drags in a nice, long, wall-shaking snore.

_There you go, Sammy,_  thought Dean, rolling his eyes behind his own heavy eyelids.

Minutes later, Dean’s almost settled into the clammy discomfort, smeared across the bed on his front, when his half-gone mind registers the distant sound of you sighing.  He might’ve caught it on the back of his own authentic snore; it’d been a while since he’d heard anything and he felt like he’d been dozing.

Then you gasp, a swallowed  _God_  or something, and he surfaces enough that he does hear it; you, sighing over Sam’s attention.  He’s too tired to care really, certainly too tired to get pissy about it, now that he’s finally comfortable enough to rest.

So instead, he absently listens, since he can’t not, and he finds… it’s lovely.

Dean shuts his jaw and swallows himself awake just enough to open an eye and stare across his own bed sheet and the stark, bright moonlight.  He blinks at nothing, taking in the sound of his brother, a full grown man really, like him, showing his girlfriend how much he loves her.  

Which Sam does, very much.  It’s been clear to Dean as soon as the sun bounced off your face and into Sam’s, his little brother got taller every time he saw you.

With half his mind, Dean wishes he were in his own house down the street while this happens, but at the same time, this is it.  This is the point of it all:  Those times when Sam stirs you up for the giggles, and when you poke him back and he laughs awkwardly, double-chinning the grin, or when he forgets Dean’s in the room, just because Sam’s affection consumes him, when he reaches for you before he knows why….

There were a few days, early on, when Dean realised you wouldn’t be leaving, and he did resent the extra work of worrying about you, too.  He does care for you. Dean has more affection for you than nearly any woman he’s known, and not just because you make Sam happy; Dean actually likes your company.

Yet you do make Sam happy, happier than Dean ever hoped.  Sam is in love, and it feels like the highest achievement, the greatest rebellion.

Thus, very quickly, keeping you safe wasn’t work for Dean:  He’s protecting Sam, too, by keeping his heart safe.

So, Dean lies there and tries not to think of what it would be like if you were lost, nor how it would break Sam, and not how it would test Dean to see him so torn.  He closes his eyes and listens to your surprise and pleasure, and Sam loving you, and tries not to get verklempt at everything being exactly as perfect as it could be for this moment in their lives.  His excellent brother is in love, and he gets to have his love and show it.

Dean thanks God you’re here, and drifts off to the sweet sounds of you thanking God, too.

 


End file.
